


You Are My Father

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four, Marvel, X-Men
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Ben is so done with everything, Camping, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Genetic Engineering, Hydra (Marvel), Love at First Sight, M/M, Multiple Points of View, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Wilderness, background flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redskull wants to create the perfect man. Unfortunately, the super-soldier serum has been lost forever. But he hopes to extract something helpful from the remaining survivors of the serum. He turns to renowned geneticist, Mister Sinister, for help.<br/>But his plans backfire, and he is not at all pleased with the results.</p><p>Fast-forward several years later to a fugitive who looks exactly like James Buchanan Barnes, searching for his fathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Perfect Man

Nathaniel Essex had always loved the way lesser humans bowed before his presence, the way they scampered out of his way like parting waves of the sea as he strode down the dark hallway.

One would think, with all his wealth and power, Schmidt would have been able to afford better lighting.

Ah well- the man known as Mister Sinister was a man of darkness.

“You summoned me?” his deep, smooth voice rang out from the shadows as he entered Schmidt’s chamber.

The man with the red skull straightened and turned around, almost frightened for a moment before he recovered. “Nosferatu,” he greeted. “Yes, I am in need of your services.”

“My services?” Essex replied with a smirk.

Redskull paced as he spoke. “Yes… You have a certain… _talent_ with genetics.” He glanced up at Sinister to make sure he was listening. “Zere are only three men in ze world that have been injected with Super-Soldier serum.. and lived. Zere is me, of course.” He paused for a beat to indicate his own importance. “Zere is Captin America.” His nose wrinkles with disgust. “And zere is Ze Asset.” He seemed both unimpressed and threatened by The Asset. He faced Sinister to punctuate this final thought: “You and I have an interest in common, Nosferatu.”

Nathaniel’s expression was one of detached amusement. “Do we.”

“You and I both wish to purify mankind, to create ze perfect man.”

Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened. “So you know of my experiments.”

Redskull waved a hand. “Zat and more. But I do not care about your experiments concerning mutation.”

Nathaniel crossed his arms. “What _do_ you want then.”

The sinews of Schmidt’s red skull-like visage pulled up on one side in mimicry of a smile. “I want you to extract DNA from ze other two remaining super-soldiers, and in addition with mine, to learn what you can, and create ze perfect man.”

“And why would I do that?”

Redskull’s smile vanished into a frown. “I am sure we can give you… adequate compensation.”

Nathaniel Essex pretended to think seriously about this proposition for a minute. It was unlikely Redskull’s scheme would stop at the creation of one perfect man; the man faced reform with religious fervor. He longed to purge the world of those he deemed unworthy, and Essex wasn’t sure if he himself was on Schmidt’s kill list. But that mattered little, considering he was, for all intents and purposes, immortal.

Whatever Schmidt was up to, the actions of Nathaniel Essex would only be a catalyst for whatever plans he had.

He cocked his head. “You’ll provide money for the equipment necessary?”

“That and more,” Schmidt promised.

Sinister smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

* * *

Sinister’s plans were thrown for an interesting loop when Captain America stormed in and stole their asset. However, it was little trouble following them back to camp.

It was touching, the way they slept in each other’s arms, their sleep-smoothed faces so innocent, so boyish in the moonlight. The Asset’s face was pressed into the crook of Captain America’s neck; their arms each locked around the other’s ribcage, possessive, yet lax in sleep. The Asset had even popped a knee between The Captain’s legs.

Sinister was careful not to disturb the scene. He crept over, silent on his feet, and obtained the blood he needed with such a light touch, their breathing didn’t even change.

He added the two samples to his third, unwanted one from Schmidt. Redskull was so sure of his own perfection; Sinister hated men like that. Creating a human only took two samples of DNA—one, if you were careful. He’d seen these men in action. There was no doubt in his mind which two samples he wanted to combine.

Luckily, his lab testing concurred: the DNA of Steve Rogers was perfect. The DNA of both Johann Schmidt and James Buchanan Barnes was different from that of a normal human being, “improved,” in Schmidt’s opinion, but Schmidt’s blood was tainted far more than Barnes’.

It took weeks to get it right, to set everything up, but Schmidt had been right to place his confidence in Essex on this endeavor: for there, sitting in the incubation tube, was the newly combined DNA of the two most genetically perfect men in the world.

* * *

**Nine Months Later**

“A _baby?!”_ Schmidt roared. “I ask you for the perfect man and you bring me a _baby?!”_

Nathaniel Essex shielded the child from Schmidt’s loud voice. “He _is_ genetically perfect. This is—”

“-A disaster!” Schmidt interrupted, angrily scattering papers onto the floor. “I am fighting a _war_ , you imbecile! Or did you forget. Somehow. With ze tanks and ze bombs _everywhere_. Zat ve are in ze middle _of a WAR!”_

“I did what you asked,” Nathaniel replied calmly.

“YOU DID NOT DO WHAT I ASKED!” Schmidt flipped over a desk; it cracked in half on impact with the floor. More papers scattered. He prowled up to Nosferatu and jabbed a finger at his chest, narrowly missing the infant. “I asked you to create me a perfect soldier. I vas expecting an _adult._ But apparently even your superior mind,” he said in a condescending, bitter tone, backing away, “could not concoct a way to bring this about.”

Nathaniel Essex cradled the baby in stony silence.

“Get out of my sight.”

Nathaniel was only too happy to oblige.

* * *

What does one do with a genetically perfect infant?

Raise him, of course.

This genetically perfect human being may be unwanted by the likes of Schmidt, but there was so much to learn! So many experiments to conduct! Like his fathers, this child would prove someday to have peak performance, peak capabilities, in everything!

Nathaniel Essex wondered just how far he could push, or encourage, those abilities.


	2. Man With A Plan

Adam’s eyes slid open. He sat up and looked around his sparsely furnished dark grey bedroom. Mechanical things hummed and whirred in every direction. He padded to the restroom and methodically went about emptying his bladder, washing his hands and face, and brushing his teeth. In the mirror, he could see his symmetrical features, his brown wavy hair. Blue eyes stared back at him, calculating, focused. He spat a stream of toothpaste foam into the sink.

Today was the day he was going to break free.

He’d been calculating this for months, silently taking note of the Master’s defenses, his security cameras, his locks and gates—the Master suspected nothing. The Master was certain Adam was following orders. Adam had gone through his training faithfully, had honed his muscles and his mind—but that was the mistake the Master made: honing his mind. The Master was fond of telling Adam of his peak human intelligence.

Adam suspected The Master never dreamed he’d be on the receiving end of that intelligence.

Being, as he was, genetically perfect, and having peak human abilities in everything, dodging lasers and slipping through doors was of very little consequence. He’d been training for this for weeks, running through the details in his perfect brain. He was outside and off the property before the Master would even notice him missing.

He had two leads to go on: the identities of his genetic fathers.

From what The Master had said, one of his fathers would be nearly impossible to find. He was a man of legend, a ghost. Few believed he existed at all. He was an assassin who worked from the shadows, the most efficient weapon Russia had ever created. Adam was intrigued by this man. And he was determined to find him.

His other father would be much easier to find. He had recently been thawed from ice and was currently fighting alongside various other gifted humans in a city called New York. Adam had read about New York, had researched its culture and customs.

He was going to blend right in.

One thing the Master had told him about this father was, Adam thought, very revealing: Steven Grant Rogers would tear the world apart for James Buchanan Barnes.

Adam was counting on it.

Find one father, find the other.

* * *

Adam had been in New York for less than a day when he found the man he was looking for: a scruffy-looking man with chiseled features and red-brown hair sat, smirking confidently, in a corner of the bar, an expensive drink at his elbow as he idly played with a deck of cards. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

“Monsieur Lebeau,” Adam greeted smoothly, taking the seat across from him.

The notorious thief raised his eyebrows and closed his hands around his deck of cards. “Ah don’ believe Ah’ve ‘ad the pleasure.”

“My name is not important,” Adam stated. “I heard you’re the man with the answers.”

Remy Lebeau smirked. “Tha’ depends on de question.” Intrigue sparkled in his red-and-black eyes.

“Where is Captain America?”

Remy Lebeau raised his eyebrows. “Who wants tuh know?”

“I have something important to tell him.”

Remy crossed his arms. “An’ ya don’ know where he is.”

Adam was slightly annoyed by Remy’s hedging. “No.”

“But ya know _him._ ”

“I know _of_ him.”

“But ya don’ know _him._ ”

“No. But I need to.”

Remy Lebeau reclined and started playing with his cards again. “So what you’re sayin’ is, ya need the whereabouts of a man who doesn’ wan’ tuh be found, an’ Ah should tell you because ya’ve _heard_ of him.”

Adam gritted his teeth. “I can pay you.”

“Money does not buy mah trust.”

“I can pay you a lot.”

Remy smirked. “Doesn’ mean Ah’ll trust ya, mon ami.”

“But you’ll give me information.” Adam set down a large wad of bills on the table between them, keeping his hand on it and staring into Remy’s eyes.

The cards stilled between Remy’s hands. He stared at the cash. His mouth spread into a slow smile. “Ah do know someone who can help.”

Five minutes later, a large mountain of a man, whose skin appeared to be made of orange rock, trudged into the bar, followed closely by a somewhat hyperactive handsome young man in a navy blue suit with the number 4 on it. He was chattering on about something energetically, gesturing widely with his hands, and narrowly missing fellow patrons with each emphatic gesture, while the tall rocky man kept rolling his eyes and grumbling.

The two joined Remy and Adam at their booth. “What’s troublin’ ya, son?” ground out the large rocky man.

Remy’s eyes slid from the large one to his normal-sized companion. “Who is dis?” he asked with warm interest.

The energetic man stopped mid-babble, eyes snapping to the handsome thief. His mouth dropped open and he stared for a long moment.

The rocky man rolled his eyes. “Johnny, introduce yourself.” He elbowed him.

Johnny shook himself out of his daze. “Johnny, Johnny Storm.” He reached out his hand to shake Remy’s.

Remy Lebeau warmly grasped his hand. “Remy Lebeau,” he murmured.

Adam stared quizzically at the large rocky man. “And you are?” he demanded in his cool, level voice.

The tall rocky man glanced with mild surprise at Adam. “Ben Grimm. I’d shake hands but I don’t want tuh crush you.”

Adam glanced at Ben’s monstrous hands. “Point taken.”

Johnny was staring at Adam now. “Damn. You look like—wow. I mean, I’ve been told I look like Captain America—”

“In your dreams,” Ben grumbled.

“—but you look _just_ like—Doesn’t he, Ben? I mean he looks _just like—_ ”

“I’m looking for my father,” Adam interrupted.

All three stared at him.

Adam was satisfied that he had their attention. “Both of them, actually.”

All three pairs of eyebrows raised.

Johnny was the one who spoke first. “Wait—do you mean to tell me that The Winter Soldier had a _son?”_

Adam nodded firmly.

“But you tol’ me you were lookin’ for Captain America.” Remy’s stare had grown a shade more intense.

“I’m looking for both of them,” Adam re-stated.

“Wait wait wait—!” Johnny flailed his hands. “You are telling me that Captain America and The Winter Soldier had a _kid together?!”_

“I did not say that,” Adam corrected.

“I mean, shit,” Johnny continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “I knew they were close and everything, but— a fuckin’ _kid!”_ Johnny looked like his mind was just about blown.

“I’m not a kid.” Adam’s teeth gritted. His perfect, white teeth.

“Lemme get this straight,” Ben said, holding out his enormous rocky hands. “Captain America is your dad.”

Adam nodded firmly.

“And your other dad is…?”

“The Winter Soldier.”

Ben stared at him. All three were staring at Adam, scrutinizing his face.

“But… _how?”_ Johnny asked the obvious question.

“Genetic engineering,” Adam replied coolly. “Now will you help me find my father or not?”

Remy, Ben, and Johnny looked at each other. Adam watched their silent conversation with interest—the flutters of skepticism and acceptance, the silent requests for help, the silent bids to see who was in this and who was not, and amusingly- to Adam at least- the way Remy’s eyes warmly slid down Johnny’s arms and chest when Johnny was looking elsewhere, and the way Johnny’s eyes always lingered on Remy as he did likewise. Ben seemed oblivious to what he was sitting between.

“We’ll help,” Ben finally promised. Johnny nodded in agreement, eyes slipping over to Remy, who also nodded.

Adam handed Remy a small stack of cash. “For the information.” And pocketed the rest of it. “I’ll pay you more once this mission is complete.”

A very beautiful woman came over carrying a sample tray of shots and asked if they’d like to try any. Johnny and Remy gave her half-hearted smiles, though Remy’s looked more convincing, but she didn’t notice either of these attempts at flirtation because she was too busy openly staring at Adam.

Adam had grown used to such glances. They were only to be expected, considering he was perfect in every conceivable way. He gave her a smile he did not feel and bought a shot for each of them. She giggled and bit her lip, setting down the requested shots on the table, and said her name was Amy and to ask her if they wanted anything more.

Adam promised they would; a promise he did not mean. She fluttered off, satisfied.

Adam lifted his shot in silent toast to the three men who had promised to help him find his father. They smiled and clinked glasses, downed the shots. Adam wondered if they knew what they’d signed up for.

* * *

As luck would have it, Ben was called the very next day by Clint to help him and Captain America in a fight. By the time Johnny, Remy, and Adam had all joined the scene, the huge lizard-like monster was already dead and Captain America was catching his shield. Cap raised his head and sauntered towards them, the sun at his back. He took off his mask and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Adam and Remy stared uncomprehendingly at the handsome black man in the Captain America outfit.

Johnny was confused. “Wait—where’s the _real_ Captain America?”

Sam Wilson rolled his eyes. “I _am_ the ‘real’ Captain America. But if you’re asking about Steve Rogers, I can answer that too.”

“Please,” Adam commanded.

Sam Wilson raised his eyebrows at Adam. His jaw dropped. “…Bucky?”

“Adam.”

Sam stepped towards him. “Is that really you? Where you been, man? Cap’s been looking for you everywhere!”

“My name is Adam. I’m his son.”

Sam froze. He scanned Adam’s face again, closely, taking in every detail with intrigue and confusion. “No way..!”

“Way!” Johnny confirmed.

“Wait, whose son?” Sam inquired. “’Cause you look like… both of them.”

Adam smiled crookedly. “Both of them,” he confirmed.

Sam frowned. “Really!”

“Really,” Adam confirmed.

Sam whistled. “Shit man. Do they know?”

“They’re about to.”

Sam shook his head, baffled. “Well, I’d love to help, but I don’t know exactly where Steve Rogers is. I know he’s searching for The Winter Soldier, and I know last time I talked to him he was somewhere in rural Montana. But that was a few days ago and I’m not sure where he is now. Said the trail was hot.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe he found him.”

“Or maybe he has no cell phone service,” Adam supplied.

“Or that,” Sam admitted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adam stated. “I’ll find him.”


	3. First Night Camping

“Pretty sweet ride, right?” Johnny pried, reclining in the captain’s chair as the Fantastic Four’s sky bus flew over the countryside on autopilot. His arms were folded behind his head and he was grinning expectantly at Adam, who was staring out the window.

“It is.. adequate.”

“Adequate!!” Johnny sprung out of his position indignantly.

Ben shrugged. “It gets us from point A to point B.”

Johnny gave Ben a betrayed look.

“Ah think it’s very nice,” Remy stated smoothly, leaning against the doorway.

_“Thank_ you!” Johnny strode across the room so he could stand closer to Remy. “At least _someone_ on here has taste!”

Ben raised his rocky brow ridge at Johnny. “You’re implying you have taste?”

“Very _good_ taste!!”

Remy chuckled.

Johnny was about to give him a betrayed look when Remy said, “’e has good taste in drinks, at any rate.” He smiled at Johnny. “Thanks again for de cinnamon martini. Ah’d neva thought to ‘ave ordered it.”

Johnny puffed out his chest with pride. “It’s my favorite! I figured since, y’know, you’re Cajun and all, and Cajun food is spicy, I thought you might like it, I mean, I figured you would, I mean, it _is_ delicious..”

Ben rolled his eyes.

“It _is_ delicious,” Remy confirmed, eyes roaming over Johnny’s torso.

Johnny missed this lingering glance because he was too busy doing the same.

Adam observed this with cool, detached amusement.

“How long until we reach our destination?” Ben grumbled, sitting next to Adam.

Adam pointed at the map, first at where they were, and then at their destination. He did some quick math. “A few hours.”

Ben groaned.

Adam glanced around. His eyes settled on a box. “Do you play chess?”

Ben glanced at his overly large hands. “Well… I _used_ to…”

Adam glanced at Ben’s hands as well. “If you can’t move your pieces, I will.”

“Deal.”

* * *

Johnny was definitely not pleased when Adam explained, after they landed, that they would have to make the rest of their journey on-foot. He made a very good point about not wanting to spook Captain America or The Winter Soldier with the loud engines of an air vehicle, but when he explained that they would most likely have to camp for several days while searching for the Captain, Johnny was very put out.

That is, until Remy mentioned he hadn’t cooked over a campfire in a while.

Adam wasn’t sure whether it was the food, the fire, or the fact that Remy had spoken that cheered Johnny up, but either way he was glad to have the complaining stemmed for a while. Remy was rambling on about various things he’d cooked, and Johnny was listening with rapt attention.

Adam walked ahead of them with Ben, who was carrying their camping supplies.

“Coupla idiots back there,” Ben grumbled under his breath. “If I’d’a known those two idiots would be so taken with each other, I’d’a never brought Johnny with me in the first place.”

“Jealous?” Adam asked with cool detachment in the guise of genuine interest.

Ben raised his rocky brow ridge at Adam as though he’d gone bonkers. “Of that disgusting display? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“You and Johnny are close,” Adam observed.

“Yeah. Close friends. Kid’s like half my age. An’ besides, I’ve got a wife.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“..But they _do_ annoy you.”

Ben’s chest reverberated with a deep thunder-like growl. “If I have to sleep in a tent with _that_ for more than one night, I might claw my own eyes out.”

“Homophobic?”

“Annoyed.”

“Because?”

“Why are you askin’ me so many questions?!” Ben near-yelled, stopping in his tracks. Johnny and Remy had been so absorbed in conversation that Johnny walked straight into Ben’s back; Remy stopped a few inches away and chuckled. Ben clenched his fists and seemed ready to pound them.

“Just making conversation,” Adam replied coolly.

Ben’s jaw ground from side to side. “Conversation my ass.” He resumed prowling in the general direction they’d been headed, footsteps crunching heavily on the underbrush.

Within seconds, the conversation behind them resumed. Ben trudged faster as though he could outrun it.

Adam was amused. “So you _are_ annoyed that they like each other, but not because you’re jealous?”

“They’re making damn fools of themselves.”

“Marriage not going well?” Adam guessed.

Ben glared at him and stopped again. “My wife won’t touch me anymore, since I changed. Won’t even talk to me. Wants nothing to do with me. Can’t even get a divorce. You think that’s easy, not being able to touch the woman you love?”

Adam blinked. “I wouldn’t know.”

Ben ground his jaw. “Well it ain’t easy.”

They continued on. Ben and Adam settled into uneasy silence, Ben ruminating about his wife, Adam planning and calculating their journey. And a few paces behind them, Remy Lebeau was warmly educating Johnny Storm on New Orleans culture.

* * *

Camp had been set up for the night, scary stories had been exchanged around the campfire, and the only one who remained unspooked was Adam. He’d found the stories amusing, nothing more—clearly they were all made up.

Johnny and Remy had decided they wanted popcorn. Instead of popping it over the fire, however, Johnny had smugly popped the popcorn using his hand.

Taking this as a challenge, Remy had done the same.

Somehow, it had turned into a contest, and the two of them were eating popcorn and declaring that their popcorn was better than their opponent’s. Johnny had asked Ben to sample popcorn from each makeshift pan and tell which one was better; Ben had stood, grumbled that he’d had “enough of this,” and lumbered off to bed.

Adam remained, eating his own popcorn- which he had popped over the fire- and quietly observing Remy and Johnny, who seemed to have completely forgotten he was there.

Remy said something which must have offended Johnny, because Johnny reached his hand over and burned Remy’s popcorn. Remy stared at Johnny, taken aback. Not five seconds later, he’d sidled up to Johnny and murmured something along the lines of “You burned my popcorn so now Ah’ve gotta eat yours” and was now taking one kernel at a time, sticking his tongue out, placing the kernel on his long pink tongue, letting it melt a little as he slowly drew his tongue back into his mouth, and repeating this action over and over again, eyes sultry, leaning a little closer to Johnny each time.

Johnny was so distracted he forgot to eat his own popcorn.

Adam felt that he was intruding and stood to leave for his own makeshift bed.

* * *

When they woke up, there were scorch marks all over camp.

“I got bored,” Johnny explained over breakfast.

Remy snickered.

Johnny blushed.

Ben glared across the clearing with a long-suffering look.

“Well what else am I supposed tuh do when I’m all alone at night!” Johnny exclaimed indignantly.

“Ah can t’ink of a few t’ings.” Remy’s voice sounded a tad suggestive.

Johnny’s eyes widened and his face turned red.

Ben glared sullenly at Remy.

Remy shrugged one shoulder. “Nothin’ wrong wit’ playin’ solitaire, mon ami.”

Ben’s sullen grumpiness increased tenfold. “Not all of us carry around at least five decks of cards at all times, champ.”

“It’s only one!” Remy objected.

“Yeah!” Johnny chimed in. “Why would he need five?!”

Remy glanced at Johnny, mildly surprised that Johnny was standing up for him.

Johnny glanced at Remy and blushed, muttered something, and continued eating his breakfast with his eyes on the ground.

“The sooner this camping trip is over,” griped Ben, “the better.”


	4. A Clue

James was crouched in the branches of a tree, roughly halfway up, concealed by what remained of its foliage. A sniper rifle rested comfortingly on the branch in front of him, loaded and ready to shoot any sign of danger. Years of survival training in Russia had taught him which plants were edible and which were not; this came in handy when he’d had to forgo meat last night. He didn’t know whose smoke that fire belonged to, maybe just wilderness seekers, hardy campers looking for a challenge. But he couldn’t take that chance. Ever since he’d escaped Hydra, he knew they were coming after him.

But they’d trained him too well. They’d taught him all the best evasion tactics, molded him into the ghost he’d become. If he could avoid detection by S.H.I.E.L.D., the CIA, and the FBI, he could avoid detection by Hydra.

But only for so long. Because just as well as he knew them, they knew him—maybe even better. None of them had ever had their memory wiped, as far as he knew—and what did he know, anyway? Not much, since they kept robbing him of anything he’d learned recently.

That was the key: _recently._

The moment he’d seen The Man On The Bridge, old memories had come rushing back in odd fragments, like shards of a kaleidoscope from a dream.

A smoky bar. Dancing. Someone coughing, lungs rattling—they had a fever. The urge to protect. Fleeting visions of blond hair and a split lip, fists so tiny but so eager to fight, and he knew somehow that scrawny kid was going to _lose_ that fight unless he did something about it, and suddenly he’d had the overwhelming urge to help that kid, that kid whose face he couldn’t even see, except when he looked back at The Man On The Bridge, he saw a phantom split in the man’s plush lip, the images superimposed— _I knew him._

His mission had failed. Twice. Hydra was not pleased. And then he’d run away, after The Man On The Bridge refused to fight him, kept calling him by a name he couldn’t remember, like a word on the tip of his tongue, except it was a name angrily stabbing somewhere in the front of his brain, somewhere it couldn’t penetrate due to years of brainwashing, until—

Until he’d said those words.

“I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Something inside of him had snapped into place, he’d relived years of fragmented memories in a second, flashing through like a slideshow he was too slow to watch, and he saw the split lip, heard the words in his own voice somewhere in his head, too loud, _too loud,_ and then as he was watching that stubborn man fall, he felt as though he himself was falling, and that felt horribly familiar too, and his brain was screaming _Steve!!!_ , and the next thing he knew, he’d popped his arm back into its socket, jumped from the helicarrier, and dove into the water.

He remembered this mission, a mission so old it felt engrained into his DNA: _protect Steve._

And he knew he couldn’t let him die.

The moment his metal hand closed around the man’s shoulder, the moment he’d pulled him to his chest, he knew, even before he broke the surface, that he had no choice: he had to disobey Hydra. He had to run away. Because _he_ _had to protect Steve._

James didn’t remember much more, although it had been months. It seemed whenever Steve was around, he was a catalyst for recovering lost memories. But James needed to avoid Steve. Hydra wanted them both dead, and James could not allow that. He couldn’t let them take Steve away from him again. Refused to let them wipe any more memories. Even if those memories were coming to him slowly, as though underwater and in a dream; even if the voices were far away and the faces unfocused, he was going to hold onto whatever memories he could.

He could survive out here for years if he had to. Even if he eventually ran out of ammunition, there were other ways to trap animals. He would survive.

Eventually Hydra would presume him dead and stop hunting, or their priorities would change and they would forget to care. He would be nothing but a file in an archive to them.

Maybe then, finally, he would reunite with Steve.

* * *

Steve Rogers had seen the smoke from the fire the night before, and his heart had seized in his chest. Without thinking, he’d started running towards the fire. But after running flat-out for about fifty yards, he’d slowed to a jog and stopped. Bucky had grown nothing if not resourceful. He would never start a fire that large, that obvious. There was too much smoke for one person.

He’d wondered for a crazy second if maybe Bucky had done it on purpose, if he somehow _knew_ Steve was out there, searching for him, and was trying to signal him.

But no… Sam was right, Steve could feel it in his gut: Bucky would come to him when he was ready.

So why was Steve out here looking for him?

Because Steve couldn’t take that as an answer. Because he _needed_ to find Bucky, needed to try reasoning with him, talking him out of whatever he was thinking, needed to draw him out of his own head and just _talk_ to him.

Steve’s chest ached when he thought of all the other things he longed to do with Bucky. To see him smile, to make him laugh. To wipe that scared, haunted look out of his eyes and make them sparkle with sunshine again. To make him remember everything. To bring back what once was.

Steve had picked up a rock off of the ground and thrown it, frustrated. The rock left a dent in a nearby tree.

He knew it was too much to ask to touch him again. Even just a brush of his fingers on Bucky’s arm, the gentle resting of one shoulder against another, would probably scare Bucky. He’d probably edge away.

Whatever Hydra had done to Bucky—Steve only knew some of the details—the accomplishments of The Winter Soldier, mostly; there was very little about _what they had done to him_ in order to _force_ him to do those awful things— Steve intended to make them pay for it. Killing them wasn’t enough. Those bastards needed to face the full horror of what they’d done.

He wasn’t an Avenger for nothing.

Steve had slept badly again that night, on the same side he always slept on; somewhere in his subconscious, he’d imagined Bucky sleeping across from him, just like he always had.

And just like every other morning since Steve had woken in this century, when he woke—tired and sore and lonely—Bucky wasn’t there.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, taking note of the direction of the wind and the recurring presence of smoke on the wind. He could smell meat cooking.

His stomach grumbled.

He was tempted to seek out whoever was cooking bacon this time of morning, but he didn’t want to take the chance that it was someone come to bring him back home, or someone _(Hydra)_ hunting for Bucky.

Steve dipped into his backpack of military rations and settled down to another breakfast reminiscent of World War II.

* * *

Camp was packed up (and heaved up onto the back of an ever-grumbling Ben) and they were on the move again. Johnny was rattling off some story Ben had heard a dozen times, and Remy was listening with great amusement, laughing at all the right places. Ben wanted to sock Johnny in the jaw to get him to shut up. Remy too. He couldn’t _believe_ Remy was falling for that horse shit.

Adam was coolly forging on, scanning the wilderness for clues. He stopped midday and held up a finger when Ben seemed about to ask a question. Adam knelt down and picked something small off the ground, dusted it off with his fingers.

A shell.

_The Soldier._

Adam was certain of it: this bullet had been fired recently—within the past few days—and a bullet of this caliber was just about unheard of to most casual hunters, and even most professional hunters. This bullet had been fired from a gun not meant for animals.

“What is it?” Remy inquired, sobering.

Johnny had stopped mid-story and was also watching Adam curiously.

Adam’s fist closed around the bullet. He stood. “A clue.”

“You think we’re gettin’ close?” Ben asked hopefully.

Adam met his eyes and stared for a beat, processing the information. The Winter Soldier was near. Either they were the hunters, or… “Yes.”

Ben looked relieved.

“But stay on your guard,” Adam warned. “I don’t think we’re alone out here.”

There was a moment of eerie silence as they all stopped talking and looked around, scanning the forest for any signs of threat.

“…Let’s keep moving,” Adam suggested, face serious.

So they did.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and they hadn’t stumbled on any more clues. Adam had a gut feeling they were headed in the wrong direction. He asked for them to pause and make camp. “The sun will set in a couple of hours. We need to find dinner while there’s still daylight,” he explained.

Johnny had perked up at the mention of dinner and volunteered to go find some.

Ben levelled a look at him. “You’re too loud. You’d scare the prey away.”

Remy snickered.

Johnny gave him a hurt look. “I can be quiet if I want to!”

“Yeah?” Ben raised one rocky brow ridge in challenge. “I dare you. Don’t say anything for the next hour. Go ahead. _I dare you.”_

Johnny was about to boast of his ability to do just that when his jaw snapped shut and realization lit his eyes. He quirked and eyebrow, shut his lips, and smiled, arms crossed proudly across his chest.

Remy smiled and clapped Johnny warmly on the back, amused. “It’s all righ’, mon ami. Ah can get dinna fo’ you.”

Johnny swallowed and stared at Remy, eyes dancing over his features.

Remy’s hand lingered on Johnny’s back for a moment before he examined their site, memorizing its features. Satisfied, he stepped away and promised, “Ah’ll be back wit’ food.”

* * *

Steve could smell meat on the breeze again. It had been a long time since he’d smelled that particular scent, and it took him a moment to place it— _rabbit._

Steve hadn’t had rabbit in years.

In fact, the last time he’d had rabbit—

Steve leaned against the trunk of a large tree, hugging himself.

No one had wanted the rabbit at the butcher shop, and it was gonna go bad if no one else bought it. The rabbit was small and lean, and heavily discounted, but still above their budget. Bucky had bargained with the butcher to get it even cheaper, and to his surprise, the butcher had let him have it.

The rabbit hadn’t been enough as a meal itself, so Steve and Bucky had found a recipe and turned it into stew. They thought it was funny, cooking a rabbit with carrots. There was a strange irony to it.

The stew had been one of the best meals they had that winter; Steve remembered reclining in his bed that night, his belly full. It was such a warm, pleasant feeling, one he didn’t have nearly often enough.

It was one of the best nights of sleep he had, warm food weighing down his stomach, warm body wrapped around his own. Bucky had insisted for years that he was there to ward off pneumonia; Steve had always privately wondered if he loved holding Steve in his arms as much as Steve loved being held. Bucky’s solid furnace of a body, his coarse leg and chest hair, the steady expanding of his chest with every inhale, had become Steve’s lullaby. Yeah, winters were dangerous to a little guy with asthma, but sometimes in the summer Steve wistfully longed for winter, because in the summer they kept their beds apart.

There were a lot of great things about this century—better health care, medicine, food, education, better special effects at the movies, easier access to information—and Steve wasn’t one to romanticize the past. He’d been there, and it wasn’t pretty.

But sometimes, selfishly, Steve wished he could go back to 1940.

* * *

James saw smoke far in the distance. He was perched high in a tree, as high as the tree would allow while still holding his weight. He trusted the forest to hide him from whoever was out there. He found his trust had been justly placed: the fire was farther away than it had been last night.

Not far enough that he would risk a fire of his own, though.

Fortunately, years in Russia meant the cold didn’t bother him. He was insulated well enough by his clothes. He would survive.

The plants that he had found would be less-than-satisfactory, but they would provide the necessary nutrition.

He took some comfort in the thought that The Man On The Bridge— _Steve_ —was somewhere warm and safe tonight, probably laughing with friends, eating a large warm meal, and yeah, maybe missing him a little bit. But Steve would cope. Steve was the kind of person you couldn’t help but love. James had no doubt he would soon be replaced, that Steve would find another friend to smile at and confide in. Someone else to joke around with.

He already knew Steve had found other people to protect him. And he was glad for it; for all Steve’s muscles and bravado, he was still a reckless punk.

Someone needed to take care of him.

But until Hydra was off his tail, James was more trouble than he was worth. He just couldn’t endanger Steve like that. He owed him too much.

 


	5. Ben Has Had Enough

Somewhere along the line, Remy and Johnny’s conversation had taken an odd turn, and as Ben rested his rocky jaw in one hand and stared long-suffering daggers into the bonfire, and Adam finished his dinner slowly, Johnny was saying, “Careful, Cajun. I could burn those clothes right off of you.”

And Remy was saying, “Ah coul’ make yours explode.” It was half-flirtation, half-warning.

“You just want to see me naked,” Johnny returned.

“Maybe Ah just want tuh put you in your place.” Remy was leaning closer, half-intimidating, half-flirting.

Johnny was leaning closer too. “Maybe I’d like to see you try.”

“Maybe Ah don’ need tuh try. Maybe Ah know Ah’d succeed.”

“Maybe I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe ya should.”

“Maybe I—”

“WOULD YOU TWO _SHUT UP ALREADY?!”_ Ben roared, startling a nearby flock of birds.

Johnny and Remy stared at Ben in surprise, still leaning towards each other, still pressed together from shoulder to thigh, chests angling towards each other, heads turned and eyebrows half-raised in surprise.

Adam watched with silent amusement.

“I have had it up to HERE with you two and your _CONSTANT FLIRTING!!”_ Ben shouted, holding a hand over his head to demonstrate.

Johnny seemed about to protest, eyebrows drawing together, mouth opening, but Ben was having none of it. “IF YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE OUT, _MAKE OUT ALREADY,_ JUST LEAVE ME _OUT OF IT!!_ I am SO DONE with hearing you two CONSTANTLY HIT ON EACH OTHER! If you don’t mean it, STOP! If you do, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!”

Remy’s eyes flickered over to Johnny.

“I… I don’t,” Johnny started, a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks, “That is—I’m not… I… uh.”

Remy was staring at Johnny with definite interest now, hooked on his every aborted phrase. They had yet to shift their position, so if Johnny would turn back to face him, their lips would only be a few inches apart.

Johnny gulped, eyes flickering to Remy. His entire face was hot pink. “Uh…” Johnny abruptly stood. “I, uh. I gotta go— _go._ ” He stumbled off into the woods and disappeared from sight.

Remy stared after him, leaning slightly into the space Johnny had just occupied, expression hurt. He sat back up slowly and glanced at the remains of his dinner. “You take it.” He offered it to Ben. “Ah’m headin’ tuh bed.”

Ben took the plate, looking guilty. They both watched Remy disappear into the tent.

“That could have gone better,” Adam remarked.

“No shit.”

Adam glanced at the food on Remy’s abandoned plate. “I’ll take that if you don’t want it.”

“Here.” Ben handed it to him.

Adam ate each satisfying bite without a hint of empathy.

* * *

 Remy was sitting alone in front of a dying fire, chin propped in his hand, waiting for Johnny to wake up and relieve him. Remy had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, when he’d gone to bed early several hours ago. Certain he would be going a night without sleep, he’d left his tent to find Adam staring contemplatively into the bonfire, told him he’d take first shift again, and Adam had barely questioned it before heading off to bed himself. He wasn’t sure whether Adam cared or whether Adam was just looking forward to another full night of sleep; either way it didn’t matter. He was on night watch, and Johnny was going to relieve him.

He heard someone’s steady snoring break off into a loud snort, someone shuffling around in their sleeping bag, silence for a few seconds, a quiet curse, and then Johnny was walking towards the fire, looking anywhere but at Remy.

“You can go to bed now,” Johnny said as he sat down across the fire, staring somewhere else entirely.

Remy’s throat felt thick. He stood. “Ya ahren’t mad at me, ahre ya?”

Johnny stared off into the distance. “…No.”

A heavy feeling grew in Remy’s chest. “Then why ahren’t ya lookin’ at meh?”

Johnny hugged himself and looked down. “…No reason.”

“Is it what Ben said?”

Johnny kept staring at the ground, not saying anything. His silence was answer enough.

Remy took a few steps towards him. “Johnny—” He reached a hand out towards him.

“Don’t.” Johnny flinched away.

“But..!” Remy’s hand hovered for a moment before he drew it back.

“Just—just go to bed.” Johnny drew further into himself, still looking away.

Remy took in the way the dying firelight illuminated Johnny’s features, the hurt and uncertainty in his eyes. But he wasn’t going to push. He straightened and backed away half a step. “As you wish,” he said quietly, turning and walking away before he could see the way Johnny’s expression changed at those words, was almost in his tent by the time he felt Johnny’s eyes on him.

But he didn’t turn around or glance back.

* * *

 Johnny looked like hell the next morning. His eyes were puffy, dull, and downcast. His shoulders were slumped.

Ben was casting long-suffering glances at the sky as though it could help him.

They were most of the way through breakfast before Remy joined them, hair mussed, face haggard, bags under his eyes. No one talked through breakfast, except Adam explaining their plan for the day.

No one talked once they were on the move, either. Johnny and Remy were walking much farther apart than usual, not looking at each other. Ben was staring ahead like either someone had shot his puppy, or like he was about to shoot someone else’s.

And Adam was his usual cool, collected, and focused self, commenting only on changes of direction or pauses for rest.

It was a very long, quiet day.

* * *

 Adam had found a scratch in a tree, almost definitely made by a small, sharp knife. He was certain they were back on the right trail again. Considering he was the least tired of the group, he’d volunteered to find dinner, and had come back to a pitiful fire which he’d had to stoke, because Johnny was too busy sulking to help it along.

Ben was grinding his jaw and staring angrily at the sky again.

Remy wasn’t able to finish his dinner again. He considered it for a long moment before offering it to Johnny.

Johnny eyed the plate with far too much emotion.

Remy surveyed his face, leaning a little closer again.

Johnny’s eyes flickered up to Remy’s face, then quickly back down to the plate again.

Remy offered the plate a little closer.

Johnny stared at the plate for another long moment before cautiously reaching out to take it, avoiding contact with Remy’s fingers.

As Johnny started eating, his mood seemed to improve just a fraction. Remy slid closer, careful not to spook him, until their shoulders were just touching.

It was subtle, the shift in the atmosphere, but soon Johnny was eating faster and almost smiling, and Remy was leaning their shoulders together, and Johnny was leaning too, and they both had tiny smiles tugging at the corners of their mouths, and then Johnny made a comment about how it was a shame Remy couldn’t enjoy his own cooking, and Remy smiled and said it was more fun to watch someone _else_ enjoy his cooking, and Johnny met his eyes and said “yeah but you need proper nutrition! Don’t go hungry for vanity!” and he shoved Remy’s shoulder with his own.

“Ah didn’ know ya knew words that big,” Remy teased.

Johnny scoffed, turning more fully towards him. “I’m very intelligent, thank you!”

“Nevah said ya weren’t.”

“Well good! Because I am.”

“Ah ain’t arguin’.”

“You better not be!” Johnny jabbed him between his pecs with his pointer finger. Their faces were inches apart.

“Ah’m not,” Remy assured, glancing at Johnny’s lips.

“Why the comment about the words then?” Johnny leaned closer, accusatory, gaze dipping to Remy’s mouth.

“Ah was just teasin’…” Remy said quietly.

“Were you?” Johnny’s eyes darted over his face; the words held more than one meaning.

“No,” Remy whispered, chasing after Johnny’s mouth.

“No?!” Johnny returned indignantly, staring at Remy’s mouth more often than not. “You think I’m stupid?!”

“No,” Remy assured, cupping Johnny’s face with one hand, attempting to steer him closer again, eyes locked on his mouth.

“Well, that makes one of us,” Ben interrupted.

Johnny frowned and was about to protest when his vision was crowded by the world’s most beautiful face and he felt a gentle pressure against his lips. Johnny’s eyes fluttered shut and gently, he kissed Remy back.

“Bout time,” Adam commented quietly.

Ben snorted. “You’re tellin’ _me._ ”

* * *

 The fire was closer tonight: a bad sign. Whoever it was, they were hovering close by. James wondered if they somehow knew of his whereabouts.

He wondered if he’d been careless, if he’d left any obvious clues. Nothing came to mind. Maybe they would stumble across the occasional stripped animal carcass, but that was no different than what any predator would leave behind. He wasn’t a fool. He knew how to avoid detection.

Maybe the campers were simply civilians searching for the thrill and the peace provided by true wilderness. Maybe they wanted to be somewhere truly wild. Maybe it was a coincidence that they were so close.

Or maybe he was being hunted.

Either way, James was extremely wary of his new neighbors.

* * *

 The fire was farther away tonight. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He was sure Bucky would never be that careless, between his time serving in the war and his time serving as a master assassin. Still—Steve couldn’t help but wonder.

Be they friend or foe, Steve wasn’t going to be stupid enough to just walk up to their camp and ask them what’s up. There was too much of a chance they weren’t friendly.

Steve opened up the ever-present compass and stared at young Bucky’s face. The black-and-white picture was faded; it had been taken before the war. He looked so proud and optimistic, the turn of his mouth so cocky, the glimmer in his eyes so innocent. Steve’s heart ached staring at the Bucky he’d known and loved.

He pocketed the compass and promised himself for the thousandth time that he would not give up until Bucky was in his arms again.

 


	6. Found You

Adam took night watch that night. Johnny Storm and Remy Lebeau were in obvious need of sleep. Adam had gone without sleep before; it didn’t bother him.

He used the time to strategize, and to search. He wasn’t too concerned with animals finding their camp, although there were large predators around. No—his real concern lay with whatever humans were around.

He didn’t know who, or how many, but he knew they weren’t alone.

He now had a small collection of spent shells in his pocket, and he was fairly certain he’d found the remnants of an old campfire. But more than that, he had this keen awareness, and his intuition was never wrong.

He was, after all, perfect.

As soon as the others were asleep, Adam roamed around the perimeter of their campsite, searching for more clues. He felt eyes on him at times, but he remained unconcerned. Whoever, or whatever, was watching him was not dangerous, or at the very least, did not intend to kill him.

He did find clues. If not for the bullet shells, or the fact that he knew his query was nearby, he might have assumed the ravaged animal carcasses were torn apart by teeth. But these bones, buzzing with insects leeching off the remaining shards of flesh, were scratched and gouged by a knife.

Something with glowing eyes skittered through the underbrush off to his left, causing a flurry of dry leaves. Adam glared the animal into submission.

A raccoon, nothing more.

“I could make a hat out of you,” he vowed in a low voice. “But you’d be an ugly hat.”

The raccoon hissed.

The device at Adam’s hip vibrated. He swiped the screen and answered the text with [Not yet]. Three paces later, it vibrated again. [Soon], he promised.

* * *

“No sleep tonight,” Adam warned them at breakfast. “We’re getting close.”

Johnny grumbled about beauty sleep as they packed up camp.

Remy said something to him about not needing it.

Johnny blushed.

Adam warned them to step extra-lightly today, and warned them not to speak unless absolutely necessary, and if so, to speak quietly.

“You really think we’re that close?” Ben asked quietly as they forged through the underbrush.

Adam nodded, jaw set.

Instead of making camp that night, they paused for dinner, as they had paused for lunch, and continued onward. The Human Torch lived up to his name and lit their way as they walked through the night-darkened forest.

“Why don’t you take a turn, huh?” He jabbed Remy with an elbow. “Your powers are all glowy too.”

Remy quirked an eyebrow. “Because we ahre supposed to be _quiet._ Ah don’ think explosions would help us much.”

“Can’t you just like—charge your hand, or something?”

“Sadly no. An’ even if Ah could, Ah wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Remy gave him a look. “Ah like havin’ two hands.”

“No talking unless absolutely necessary,” Adam reminded them.

Johnny rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder against Remy’s.

Remy smiled and knocked back.

And so the night progressed, Johnny and Remy muttering with increasing volume until they were flat-out talking, until Ben or Adam reminded them to be quiet, followed by a brief spell of silence, followed by Johnny starting it all up again.

Ben grumbled something about being too old for this shit.

Adam silently wondered how old Ben and the others were; he was in his seventies, himself, but he didn’t look it. Something about his perfect DNA, and perhaps the treatment of Mister Sinister, had gifted Adam with a seemingly ageless face; he looked no older than thirty. Or perhaps, just over thirty. He had a face which was just aged enough to be taken seriously, and just handsome enough to charm his way through anything. He intended to put that to full use once he found his fathers.

Dawn lit the sky with a rosy glow, and Johnny whined about his feet being tired.

Adam agreed that they could use a rest; they paused near a stream and had breakfast and a quick wash.

Johnny was asking for a nap, but Adam shook his head ‘no’ and insisted they “must go on.”

Johnny grumbled most of the way, but it was under his breath, and Remy’s arm was draped around his shoulders, so Johnny mostly leaned against him as they walked. Remy seemed to have figured out exactly what to say to raise his mood.

Ben kept casting Adam curious looks that Adam moreso felt than saw, because Adam was scanning the trees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on-end. He knew they were close.

Too close.

Something whizzed past them and struck the ground. Adam smiled a dark, hard smile. “He knows we’re here.” Everyone looked at him with mingled confusion and fear. “Everyone stay close,” he commanded, keeping his volume low.

He kept his ears trained for the slightest sound.

More silent bullets whizzed past; a few of them bounced off of Ben. “Those sting,” he complained.

“Bear with it, my big friend,” Adam gritted, focused and on the lookout. He’d nearly calculated the trajectory of the—

Another shot whizzed past his shoulder, just barely missing him. “There!” He pointed.

Remy charged a card and threw it where Adam was pointing. The card struck a branch and exploded, sending a man dressed in black tumbling to the ground with an audible whoosh of air as his lungs were abruptly emptied.

The Winter Soldier groaned, pushing himself up with his metal hand.

“Father,” Adam greeted, stepping forward. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The Soldier frowned up at him, confused and wary, pulling his gun at the ready.

“We’re friends!!” Johnny insisted, hands up in defensive surrender.

“Friends of who,” The Soldier asked in a gravelly voice, rough from disuse.

“Steve Rogers,” answered Remy, standing close to Johnny.

“You do remember him, don’t you?” Adam asked with a strange, almost detached curiosity.

“Bits and pieces,” The Soldier ground out. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I needed closure,” Adam explained.

“What kind of closure. Who are you?” The Winter Soldier stared at Adam with his piercing steel-blue eyes.

Adam took a couple steps closer. “Adam. I’m your son.”

The Soldier frowned. “Son?! That’s impossible.”

Adam’s chin notched up. The Soldier’s gaze darted to the familiar cleft, the familiar set of his jaw— _It couldn’t be._

“It is possible, and I am here. Do you not see the resemblance, _father?”_

The Soldier flexed his fingers, making fists and releasing them over and over. His eyes darted over Adam’s face, Adam’s physique— _It couldn’t be._ “I—yeah I do, but—but that’s _impossible!”_

“How can you say it’s impossible when I stand before you?” Adam challenged, stepping even closer.

“Because! I’ve never knocked anyone up in my life!” The Soldier’s hand flew to his shaggy bangs, pulling them back from his face. They did bear a striking resemblance to each other. Startling, even.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”

The Soldier glared at him. “Because the only person I’ve ever put my dick into is Steve!”

Adam heard the others’ jaws pop open, but Adam was neither surprised nor affected by this remark. “Who do you think my other father is?”

The Soldier’s face scrunched up. “Okay, now you’re just talking crazy.”

“Am I?” Adam loomed over him. He was just a bit taller than The Soldier, just a bit more muscular.

“Yes! I don’t know if you know basic biology, but that is physically impossible! I have a dick. Steve has a dick. Neither of us have a womb. So one of us getting pregnant with you? Impossible. There’s just no fucking way.”

“Who said anyone got pregnant with me?”

The Soldier narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

Adam chuckled darkly. “For someone who’s undergone so much genetic engineering, you sure don’t know much about it.”

The Soldier glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I don’t know much about _anything_ , because in case you didn’t get the memo, _sonny-boy,_ I’ve been fucking _brainwashed!”_

Adam slipped an arm around his father. “See, fortunately, in addition to being genetically perfect in every way, I am also one of the most educated people on this planet. So I have no problem explaining things to you.”

The Soldier was visibly uncomfortable. “If you really were my son, I’d slap you for being such a stuck-up little shit.”

Adam laughed, a loud, booming sound that filled the air around them. His laugh sounded like a darker version of Captain America’s. “I _am_ your son,” he promised. “Now then… who’s hungry?”

* * *

They were just finishing dinner, and a very awkward conversation in which The Winter Soldier was extremely dodgy and wary and uncomfortable, and Adam was slippery-smooth and kept touching him, which The Soldier obviously didn’t like, when suddenly The Soldier’s eyes widened and he fell to the ground, unconscious. A dart stuck out of his neck.

Adam jumped up and spun around to face Brock Rumlow, who was prowling towards them, flanked by three men pointing guns. “Don’t bother trying to run,” Rumlow called out. “You’re surrounded.”

Johnny, Remy, and Ben glanced around the clearing, taking in the growing number of men in black shirts and camo pants, all pointing guns at them.

“What—what are you doing?!” Adam stammered, indignant. “I told you I captured The Soldier! I haven’t captured The Captain yet!”

“All in good time.” Rumlow clapped Adam on the shoulder. “We have his Bucky. He’s bound to be nearby.”

“But I told you I would capture him! I was right on his trail!”

“Relax! We’ll get him.” Rumlow’s smile was all teeth. “We have bait he can’t resist.”

Adam felt something poke the back of his neck; everything was going dark. The last thing he heard was Rumlow commanding his men to “Shoot!”

* * *

Ben shielded Remy and Johnny as best he could on one side while the two fought back-to-back; Remy charged the arsenal of cards in his pockets and took out their guns one by one, Johnny melted their shoes and gave them heatstroke.

They managed to take out all the lackeys; they all laid in a tangled heap on the ground, in a horseshoe shape surrounding them.

But they’d been so busy taking out the other guys, they hadn’t had a chance to go after Rumlow. They’d been helpless, only able to watch as he pulled Adam and The Soldier into the waiting helicopter and smirked as he flew away, shouting something smug they couldn’t hear over the chopping of the blades.

“Why I oughtta!” Ben ground out loudly, throwing a boulder at the helicopter, which exploded unexpectedly mid-air because Remy had seen him picking up the rock and had charged a card to stop it.

“Wha’ ahre ya thinkin’ mon ami! We ‘ave _friends_ on that chopper!”

Ben clenched his huge, rocky fists. “I’m _thinkin’_ those guys are in for some _serious shit.”_

Johnny’s eyes were darting around rapidly. He seemed on the verge of something.

Remy turned to him questioningly. “What is it, mon amou—?”

“Does anyone have a candy bar?” Johnny’s eyes were glued to the retreating helicopter.

“Ah have half a’ one. Why?”

Johnny held out his hand for it. “Just gimme!”

Remy dug into his backpack and produced the half-eaten Snickers.

“Thanks.” Johnny wolfed down the candy bar, tossed the wrapper on the ground, shouted, “Flame on!!” and took off flying after the helicopter.

* * *

Steve Rogers rushed into the clearing, face dirty, hair flopping in his face, wet with sweat. “Where is he?!” he demanded. He prowled towards Gambit and seized him by the collar of his ever-present coat. “Where’s Bucky?!”

“Please—mon ami—” Remy protested, tugging at Cap’s hands with his own.

Ben pointed to the sky, where Johnny’s trail of flame was still visible as he chased down the copter. “He flew that way.”

Steve abruptly released Gambit’s collar and whirled around to face Ben Grimm. He looked both panicked and betrayed. “With who?!”

“Ah don’ know,” Gambit said, massaging his throat. “Think Ah heard the name ‘Rumlow.’”

Steve’s face was pinched. “Rumlow!” he exhaled as though the name knocked the air right out of him. “You trusted _Rumlow?!”_

Remy held up his hands, backing up a step. “It wasn’ us! We was just helping!”

“Who?!” Steve Rogers demanded.

“Guy named Adam. Claims to be your son.”

Steve whirled once more to face Ben Grimm. “What?! I’ve never had a son.”

“Dis convahsation is soundin’ familiar..”

Ben glanced at Remy. “Yeah well, he says he was genetically engineered.”

Steve shook his head. “But that’s—they would have had to have high level clearance to get my DNA, it’s protected by S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Ben shrugged his mountainous shoulders. “Must have been someone with high-level clearance then. He didn’t really elaborate…”

“Come tuh think of it, he didn’ really tell us much about himself at all.”

“And you _trusted him?!”_ Steve gave both of them a frustrated, betrayed look.

“’e was very charismatic,” Remy admitted with a shrug.

“He said he needed help,” Ben added, defensive.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay… So some guy claiming to be my son asked you for help, so you two tracked down Bucky and turned him in to Rumlow. Is anyone else seeing a problem with this?!”

“They took Adam too,” Ben added soberly.

Steve considered this for a beat.

“’e seemed betrayed,” Remy added. “Ah don’ think ‘e knew wha’ he was gettin’ himself into.”

Steve sighed. “And they took him.”

“Seems about the size of it,” Ben agreed. “So what now, Cap?”

Steve raised his chin and met his eyes, fierce. “We go after Bucky.”


	7. In Deep Shit

Johnny woke up in a concrete room with a glass wall. Rumlow’s voice came to him over the comm. “Mornin’, Torch.”

Johnny growled and ignited.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. See, the room you’re in is air-tight. You burn up, fire needs air—you’ll suffocate yourself.”

“Not if I burn hot enough,” Johnny warned, igniting hotter.

“Go ahead. Try. You’ll only die faster.”

Johnny made a loud, frustrated noise and attempted to burn a hole through the glass. The glass refused to melt.

“That’s a special diamond alloy you’re trying to melt through. It’s not going to work.”

Johnny turned off the flames and stared at his hands, for the first time feeling defeated.

“Good choice. Unlike the one you made when you chased after our copter. I mean, really. What did you think was going to happen?” Rumlow asked with a laugh. “Did you really think you were going to defeat Hydra?”

Johnny clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He glared through the transparent wall at the empty hallway. His body temperature was rising again.

Rumlow laughed again and turned off the comm.

Johnny smashed his fists against the transparent wall and shouted incoherently. Even if he had super-strength, he doubted he’d be able to break through diamond with brute strength. He bumped his forehead against the glass, face screwed up in frustration.

“Damn it,” he whispered. An angry tear splattered on the cement below.

* * *

Adam woke up on a cold, hard table, his wrists, arms, ankles, and legs held down with metal shackles. He struggled against them to see if they would break. He almost believed, for a moment, that he could break them, but just as he was putting in extra effort, a smooth, dark voice informed him that it was useless trying to break free.

A new face.

“Who are you?” Adam ground out through gritted teeth.

He heard the sound of rubber gloves snapping into place, the sound of metal instruments clattering on a tray. The figure loomed closer, mouth tilted up on one side. The man wore a white lab coat.

“Who are you!” Adam repeated, angrier.

The man made a humming noise as he took Adam’s vitals. “Hmmm. Impressive.” He had a German accent.

“What’s impressive! Why aren’t you talking to me!” Adam demanded.

The man wrote something down.

“You’re with Hydra aren’t you,” Adam observed. He took the man’s silence as a ‘yes.’ “Shoulda figured.” He stared at the ceiling, all dark gray pipes and dull fluorescent lights. “Father was right, you can’t be trusted.”

The man continued poking and prodding Adam’s body and writing things down.

Adam spoke through it. “Don’t know why I trusted you fools in the first place. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. You told me if I brought you my genetic fathers, you’d make me a companion.” He huffed an ironic laugh. “Should’ve just brought them back to Father. He could’ve done it. Hell, could’ve probably just made a clone from me.. But it just gets so _lonely_ there, you know? Spending all your time in this huge castle with a guy who prefers reading to conversation, servants were scarce, most of ‘em weren’t that interesting—didn’t seem like a playmate was too much to ask for, right? But Father was always telling me, ‘No one is worthy of you. You’re too perfect.’”

Adam fell silent for a moment as the man drew some blood.

“Should’ve known…”

* * *

James woke up in Hell.

He knew this room. His blood turned cold, his gut twisted, his jaw clenched. _No._

“You’ve been a bad boy,” said an all-too-familiar voice.

James’s eyes widened with fear.

The man loomed closer. “You failed your mission.” He pressed a button; the shackles holding James down zapped him with an electric shock. “You disobeyed direct orders.” _Zap._ “And then you ran _away_ from us.” The man leaned over him and cupped The Asset’s face in a mock show of ‘care.’ “How could you _hurt_ us like that?”

James spat.

The man chuckled and backed away. “None of that. You’ve been bad enough already. I’m sure you recognize the chair you’re in.”

_No. No no no no no._

“My sources tell me you were trying to regain your memories again. Trying to chase down the one man who you believed was the key to your forgotten past. You should have been more careful,” the man taunted. “We’ve got him too, you know.”

“That’s a lie!” Bucky spat, straining against the shackles.

“Oh, I assure you, it’s not a lie. He walked right into our trap. The good Captain is on his way to us right now. And when he gets here, we’re going to kill him. _Right in front of you._ ”

“Steve…!”

“Yes, that’s right. Your precious ‘Steve’ will be taken from you. Maybe then you’ll finally learn to obey orders.”

“I’ll never obey you again, you fucking creep!”

The man smirked, his finger hovering over a button. “That’s what you think.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “No.”

The smirk turned into a grin. “Yes.”

“How are you going to take him away if I can’t remember him?! Won’t killing him hurt more if I do?!” he bargained desperately.

The grin was all teeth. “My dear boy… No one ever said you were going to _remember_ him when we killed him.” He pressed the button.

The chair started its familiar slow recline. Bucky was given something to bite down on. He clenched his teeth on it as though biting the throat of Hydra itself. The last word that left his mouth as the electricity started zapping through his skull was “STEVE!!!!!!”

* * *

The Asset woke up in a concrete cell with one transparent wall.

 _At least it wasn’t the cryo chamber_ , he thought.

He wondered why he had that thought.

Nevertheless, he was relieved that he was not cold.

The cell was empty _so that I don’t try to kill myself_.

He wondered if he had tried suicide before.

He wondered why he would want to die.

Who was he?

What was his mission?

Soothing music played over the comm.

The Asset sat down in a meditative pose, his back straight, legs folded, and waited for direct orders.

 


	8. The Cavalry Arrives

Steve, Ben, and Remy were on their way, following where Johnny had flown, in the Fantastic Four air bus. Steve had taken the controls and wished the bus could go faster. He’d lost sight of Johnny’s trail of flame, but he had a pretty good idea of where they’d landed, judging by where he’d last seen it.

But Bucky was in danger. They couldn’t get there fast enough.

Ben had occasionally tried to say comforting things, but all his attempts fell flat.

Remy was rather quiet, as well.

“Wish we had some music or somethin’,” Ben griped.

Neither of the other two responded.

Ben sighed. “We gettin’ close, Cap?”

“Not close enough.” If Steve gripped the controls any harder, he was going to break them.

Ben scanned the air bus for any sort of distraction. Board games… road maps… _something._ Not that he didn’t care about rescuing Johnny and the others, but the tension in the air was just too thick. “Uno, anybody?” He offered, holding the deck in his overly large hands.

This earned a tiny smile from Remy. “Thanks, but no thanks, mon ami.”

Ben sighed and sat down near Remy. “You worried about Johnny?” he guessed.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Ben shrugged his rocky shoulders and stared ahead. “I guess.”

“You _guess?”_

Ben rolled his eyes. “Okay, yeah, he’s gotten himself into some deep shit, but he’ll pull through. He’s too stupid to be any real threat.”

Remy’s glare was ice-cold.

Ben held up his overly large hands in surrender. “All right, fine! He’s not a _complete_ moron. But you’ve gotta admit, he’s not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree!”

Remy stood, fists clenched. “Ahre you insinuating that jus’ because somebody ain’ the ‘brightest bulb in de box,’ they aren’t worth fighting? Or ahre you insinuating dey aren’t worth _saving?”_

“Whoa there, I never said anything like that!”

“Ah can blow up rock, you know.”

“Easy!!” Ben shielded himself with his hands. “I didn’t say nothin’ like that! Johnny is my best friend, okay? Yeah the squirt is a pain in the ass and I wanna clobber him more often than not, but I don’t want him _dead!”_

Remy’s eyes stopped glowing. His fists eased open and he sat down with a sigh. “Ah know, mon ami. Ah know…”

“You really like him, don’t you.”

Remy cast a tired glance up at Ben. He didn’t bother denying it.

“If I’d’a known you’d like him so much, I’d’a introduced you ages ago.”

A small, tired smile raised Remy’s lips on one side. “Thanks, mon ami.”

Ben shrugged. “Don’t thank me. Johnny and I happened to be out together when you called. He’s the stubborn shithead that insisted on coming with me.”

Remy’s tired smile warmed.

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while Steve scanned the ground for a safe landing spot. They were few and far between.

“Gentlemen,” Steve announced, nosing down, “I have a confession to make.”

Ben and Remy turned towards Steve.

“I’ve only flown a vehicle like this once before. And it wasn’t exactly what you’d call a smooth landing.”

“So you’re saying ‘brace yourselves’?” Ben wagered.

“At least fasten your seatbelt,” Steve agreed.

Two belts clicked into place behind him. Steve tried his best to land the plane without breaking it, but between the unfamiliar controls and the darkening sky, he was lucky he missed most of the trees on his way down, to say nothing of the way the air bus skidded and shuddered its way to a complete stop.

Smoke rose from the landing site.

“Well,” Steve said after their ears stopped ringing from the screeching and groaning and crashing noises, “We’re still in one piece.”

“More than I can say for the plane,” Ben commented, watching a piece of it break off and fall to the ground.

Steve winced.

“Now what?” Ben prodded.

“This way.”

They followed Steve.

It was dark by the time they reached the hidden building, and despite the finger Steve held to his lips, an alarm started blaring the moment they stepped inside.

INTRUDER ALERT

INTRUDER ALERT

Lights flashed, red and white. Armed guards clomped down the corridors in army boots. “There they are!” one shouted.

But they were no match for Gambit, The Thing, and Captain America.

“It’s clobberin’ time!” Ben announced, smashing guard after guard into walls, floors, and each other. Remy charged every object in sight and took them out one by one. Cap’s shield took out more men than the two of them combined.

They fought their way deep into the Hydra base, until they saw the familiar face of Brock Rumlow.

“Hold your fire!” Steve commanded. As much as he wanted to take this guy out personally, he needed answers.

Rumlow slow-clapped. “Bravo, Stevie. You broke into our secret base.” The armed guards surrounded Captain America and his two comrades. “And walked right into our trap.”

“What are you talking about?!” Steve demanded.

He heard a high-pitched whizzing sound and took aim with his shield. A dart fell, cut in half, to the floor. He fought off several more, until there was a small pile of them at his feet.

“Not bad,” Rumlow admitted. “But you’re not really the one we’re after anyway.”

Remy suddenly took off down the hall.

“After him!!” Rumlow shouted.

Steve took the opportunity to jam Rumlow against the wall with his shield; Ben smashed the skulls of the remaining armed guards against each other until all six of them were unconscious.

“Where’s Bucky?!” Steve demanded.

Rumlow held up his hands. “Can’t—breathe—!”

Steve jammed the shield harder against Rumlow’s neck. “Where is he!” he repeated.

This time, Rumlow honestly couldn’t breathe. He grabbed at the shield, face turning purple.

Steve eased his grip just enough for Rumlow to talk.

Rumlow pointed down the hallway, gasping for breath.

Steve punched Rumlow unconscious and took off in the direction he’d indicated.

* * *

Remy felt the prick in the back of his neck and charged the object immediately so it exploded, but his vision was still getting blurry and his limbs felt heavy. He kept fighting, but everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion.

But it was also too fast… He couldn’t keep up.

But he _had_ to.

Remy found himself in a hallway full of concrete rooms with glass walls. A few cells down, on the right, he saw a pair of hands pressed against the glass. He fought against the growing haze of tiredness and approached that cell.

More Hydra agents poured in from the opposite side of the hall. Remy took them all out, not bothering with the banter. He was too tired for it anyway.

He felt eyes on him as he finally reached the cell. Sure enough, Johnny Storm was staring back at him, no longer slumped over, hands pressed eagerly against the glass. He was mouthing Remy’s name.

“Get back!” Remy mouthed. And said, not that Johnny could hear him.

But Johnny seemed to understand; he backed away, hands still outstretched as though to touch him.

Remy placed his palms against the glass and charged it with all of his remaining energy.

The wall exploded, sending Remy tumbling back against the opposite wall. He hit his head and blacked out.

* * *

Steve barreled down the hall and slowed when he saw rows of concrete cells. The hallway was deserted. He peered into each cell with growing anxiety until he found him.

Bucky was sitting on the floor, back ramrod straight, hands resting on his lap, legs crossed. He stared vacantly ahead until Steve stepped directly into his line of vision. Then, Bucky’s eyes slowly tracked up until they were resting on his face.

Bucky’s eyebrows came together. His eyes flickered in vague recognition.

“Bucky!” Steve said, pressing his hand against the glass.

Ben turned when he heard the sound of feet running down the hall. He set off to defeat the armed guards.

Steve almost didn’t hear them; his heart was in his throat. Bucky was staring right at him, but he may as well have been staring right through him. His face was so blank.

He heard a thud and turned just in time to see an agent come at him from behind. He was stabbed in the neck with something that made him feel weak. “Bucky…!” He reached for the glass again.

The Asset strode towards the glass, a vague feeling he did not understand churning in his gut. He watched the almost-familiar man waver on his feet.

A voice came on over the comm. “Say good-bye to your Captain.”

“Bucky… what—AUGH!!” Steve shouted as electricity zapped through him. His entire body jolted.

The Asset pressed a hand to the glass.

“BUCKY!” Steve shouted, reaching out for him. He was zapped again. His body jolted uncontrollably.

The Asset watched with a calm sort of curiosity as The Captain was zapped again and fell to the ground, face screwed up in pain, eyes closed, nose bleeding.

 


	9. Escape

Ben was too late. Cap was already on the ground, unconscious before he could get to him. There were just too many skulls to smash and not enough time to do it.

He punched out the guy who’d taken out Cap, sent the guy sprawling. “Cap!” He turned the man to face him; other than the subtle, but steady rise and fall of his chest, Cap was unresponsive.

Ben glared at the shell of a man staring down at them through the glass. He pounded on it with an overly large fist.

Some asshole tutted him over a loudspeaker. “Can’t win everything with force, you know.”

“Watch me!” Ben challenged. He smashed at the glass again.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice taunted.

Ben ignored the voice and smashed his fist against the glass again, over and over, until thin lines spiderwebbed from the impact site. Ben pounded all the harder.

Finally, it broke.

More men were pouring into the hallway. Ben rolled his eyes and hefted Cap over his shoulder. “You comin’ or not?” he called to the man in the cell as he started down the hallway, fighting off men one-handed as he went.

He heard bones cracking behind him.

Once he’d defeated all the guards in sight—again—he turned to see how the other fared. The Man Formerly Known As James released a guy, who crumpled to the ground, arm twisted at a sick, unnatural angle. “Not bad,” Ben admitted, discomfort churning in his gut. He was glad he had a virtually indestructible body.

The Asset followed the strange, rocky man down the hallway, killing and disabling every man they came across.

* * *

 Remy had a pounding headache. He was badly in need of sleep, food, and alcohol. This week had been far rougher than he’d anticipated.

The first thing he became aware of through the buzzing haze was a warm pair of arms wrapped around him, and a face buried in his neck. The side of his neck was wet.

“—‘m sorry I couldn’t help you, ‘m sorry I couldn’t save you, please, Remy, please don’t leave me! I don’t think I can make it out of here alone! I don’t know where the others went, I don’t know if Bucky’s alive, and I don’t know where he is, I’d go save ‘em if I could, but—oh please, Remy, not without you! Please!”

The side of his neck became wetter.

Remy opened his eyes. The hallway was dark where they were huddled on the ground; the light must’ve been taken out in the explosion. The floor was littered with rubble.

And he had a lovely view of Johnny’s shoulders, which were shaking as he sobbed into Remy’s neck.

He reached up and weakly patted him on the back. “Easy there, mon amour… Ah don’ blame you for anythin’.”

Johnny gasped. “Remy!!” He pulled away just enough to see his face.

Remy smiled. “Johnny,” he returned.

“Oh, Remy, you’re alive!” Johnny pulled him into an even tighter hug and sobbed anew.

Remy’s smile widened. He rubbed Johnny’s back comfortingly. “Ah’m alive.” He calmed Johnny’s hiccoughing sobs with croons of “Shhh, it’s okay,” and nuzzled his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” Johnny promised.

Remy raised an eyebrow. “Ah thought _Ah_ was de rescue party.”

“Yeah, that was before you got injured.” Johnny helped Remy to his feet. “I’d carry you, but. Kinda need both hands to fight.”

Remy scoffed. “As though Ah’d need you tuh carry me anyway.”

“Shut up!” Johnny grinned. “Someday, you’ll be begging me for a piggyback ride and you know it.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Whateva ya say, mon amour.”

With that, they took off down the hallway.

* * *

Remy had been weaker than he’d anticipated, and Johnny wasn’t all too strong himself, but they made it back to the rendezvous point where they met up with Ben, Cap (unconscious), and Bucky. Remy had taken Johnny up on his offer of the piggyback ride much earlier than either anticipated, and was currently perched upon Johnny’s back, arms locked around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. Johnny seemed to be enjoying it.

“What happened to Cap?!” Johnny blurted.

“Long story,” Ben growled. “We need to get out of here.”

“Agreed. You have a plan?”

Ben glared at yet another wave of Hydra agents. Remy took them out with a well-aimed card.

“I say we just book it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Johnny agreed.

They ran out of the Hydra facility as fast as they could. Remy caused an explosion to cover the entrance. They made it back to their air bus, which Ben only hoped was intact enough to get them home.

“My plane!” Johnny lamented as he struggled to take off. “What did you do to my beautiful plane!”

“Don’t blame me, blame Captain America!” Ben gruffed.

Johnny continued lamenting over the state of ‘his’ plane, which he did manage to get off the ground and to the nearest airport. They landed roughly; turns out Cap had completely ruined the landing gear.

Throughout the short flight, Cap remained unconscious, and The Asset remained oddly still, staring at him. He was just as silent as Steve.

“What did they do to him?” Johnny worried aloud. An ambulance was on its way.

“Don’t know,” Ben answered. “Zapped him with something.”

“And what’s up with Bucky? He’s like, _really_ quiet.”

“I think they wiped his memory…”

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Holy shit! We forgot something!”

“What?” Ben asked, but he realized a moment later.

They’d forgotten Adam.

* * *

“They took out a lot of my facility,” said the current head of Hydra, a young-looking man with white hair and round glasses, “and killed most of my guards. But that is little matter.” He cupped Adam’s jaw. “I already have ze perfect soldier.”

“That’s what  _you_  think,” Adam spat.

The man tutted. “Now, now. If they cared that much about you, they would have rescued you, no?” He caged Adam with his arms. “But they didn’t,” he taunted.

“They had no reason to,” Adam argued. Yes, it stung, but it made sense. Steve had gone after Bucky, Remy had gone after Johnny, Ben had done his best to protect whoever he could. Somewhere in the commotion of saving those they really cared about, they’d forgotten to save the guy they’d just met, the guy who’d betrayed them to Hydra.

“No reason to?” the bespectacled man repeated. “Were they not your friends?”

“Not exactly.”

The man scanned Adam’s face. “Zen you have not a friend in ze world?”

“Not besides you,” Adam quipped, not meaning one syllable of it.

The man’s mouth snapped into a sharklike grin. “Perfect.”

* * *

“His condition is stable,” the doctor informed, “but we have no idea when he’ll wake up.”

The Asset stared through the glass at the sleeping Captain. “Can I see him?”

Remy and Johnny glanced at Bucky in surprise.

The Asset was staring intently at the doctor. He didn’t know why, but this felt important. He ought to be there, by Steve’s side.

“…Yes,” the doctor granted.

The Asset nodded his silent thanks and entered the room. No one had questioned his presence; the coat-and-hat disguise worked better than he’d thought it would. Pulling his ratty hair back had helped. With the arm covered, it was much harder to recognize him.

The Asset sat next to Steve Rogers. Steve was breathing steadily, eyes closed. He looked like he’d been through Hell.

A fleeting image, cloudy and far away, of a young man with that same face, lying in a hospital bed—he looked like he’d been through Hell, his cheeks were so hollow, the bags under his eyes so dark, his precious face coated in a sheen of sweat; the scrawny young man struggled for every breath, coughing weakly—superimposed over the strong, steadfast body of Captain America. For a moment, The Asset thought they might be the same person.

But that was impossible—the Captain could never have been that small.

Maybe he’d always been that small.

He heard his voice croak ‘Steve’ in the memory, felt a phantom rush of desperation.

The Asset reached out his flesh hand and gently placed it on The Captain’s arm.  _Protect Steve._

He wasn’t sure who gave him that mission, how long ago, but it felt important.

_Protect Steve._

Something dully felt as though it were clicking into place. His sense of rightness only increased. It gave him an odd, bubbly feeling in his stomach.

Outside the room, Ben, Johnny, and Remy watched the emotions flicker across Bucky’s stoic face, wondered what it meant when he reached for The Captain’s arm and let his hand rest there.

“Do ya think ‘e remembers…?” Remy wondered aloud.

Ben watched the two figures through the glass, observed the resolve settle over Bucky’s shoulders. “I sure hope so.” 


	10. A Bit Of Mind Control

Nathaniel Essex had known all along, of course, that Adam was planning an escape. Adam had grown quite adept at shielding his thoughts, but no one was safe from the expert mind-probing of Nathaniel Essex.

The boy’s insistence on freedom was intriguing; he’d let Adam think he was succeeding, let him survey his surveillance system for weaknesses. He sat back and observed from afar, Adam unaware all the while that someone was watching him.

He wondered what interest the boy could possibly have in Montana.

The boy’s team-up with two superheroes and a known rogue was interesting, to say the least—but his double-cross was even more intriguing.

Now, however, Adam had been captured by Hydra, and seemed to be in over his head.

Teleporting into the Hydra base was simple. Taking out the guards was even more simple.

He left one awake, however: _Take me to Adam_. The man turned on his heel like a little tin soldier and led Sinister straight to him.

Adam was unconscious and hooked up to several unnecessary tubes and machines. Sinister unhooked Adam from the various machines and carried him easily in his arms. He was out of the Hydra facility and back into the castle before anyone had time to react.

Assessing what they had done to Adam took mere seconds. He healed Adam as best he could—which was perfectly, of course—and did what he should have done a long time ago: he gave Adam a transfusion of his own blood.

It was interesting, watching Adam’s body spasm and twitch as his white blood cells decided whether to accept the offering or not. An unearthly scream sprouted from Adam’s lips as he convulsed.

Sinister watched with interest as his creation spasmed one more time, then slowly relaxed onto the bed. His features rested. His breathing evened out.

Adam opened his eyes, which now glowed red. Sinister felt Adam reaching out to probe his mind; he acquiesced and let the boy in, just enough to answer his questions.

“Thank you, Father.”

Sinister smiled. “You’re welcome, son.”

Adam was silent for a moment. He had more questions, yet he did not pry Sinister’s mind.

Sinister allowed the boy to think for a long moment.

“Why don’t they like me, Father?” Adam examined his hands. “I’m perfect. I’m so much stronger and smarter and more capable than them. Why don’t they love me?”

“They just don’t understand,” Sinister crooned, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “They don’t know what it’s like to be perfect.”

Adam frowned. “But Captain America is genetically perfect, too. They love him.”

“They did not have a chance to know you.”

Adam was unconvinced. “…I grow lonely, Father.”

“Is that why you left?”

Adam nodded.

“Oh, my son.” Sinister wrapped the boy in a loose hug. “You needn’t be lonely anymore.”

* * *

It was at the same moment that Remy Lebeau, Johnny Storm, and Ben Grimm were all overtaken with a sudden wave of guilt for leaving Adam behind. They had been so worried about The Captain, they hadn’t given Adam much thought.

Adam had been strange, they reasoned, but he hadn’t been a bad guy. He had betrayed them to Hydra, but only because he didn’t know any better. Had he not fallen unconscious so soon, he would have fought Hydra for them, with them—were it not for Adam, Remy may not have met Johnny, Johnny might not have met Remy, Ben would not have made a new friend.

Remy wasn’t sure how or when he got Adam’s phone number, but he dialed it nonetheless. He was relieved when Adam answered. “Adam, where ahre ya? Ahre ya safe?”

“Perfectly,” came the cool reply.

“Look, we all feel awful abou’ not rescuin’ ya.”

“That’s all right. I made it out by myself.”

“Still… we shoulda been there fo’ ya. We’re at th’ hospital right now. De Captain was injured in battle.”

“….I’ll be right there.”

All three felt a sudden ease, a relief of some anxiety, but they all still felt guilty.

* * *

When Adam strode down the hallway towards the trio, they were visibly relieved.

Learning to mask his new eyes had taken mere seconds; learning to teleport, Father warned, would take much longer. He’d had to rely on his father to deposit him here.

“Still unconscious?” he inquired. But he already knew.

“Yes,” Remy agreed.

Adam took a casual glimpse into the mind of James Buchanan Barnes. The space was very empty on the surface, but the place was rife with hidden memories. Adam curiously overturned one after another—a successful assassination, a nameless man spitting in the face of his captors, a man reaching out with his metal arm to choke the life out of a man in a labcoat, a bleeding stub of an arm being dragged across the snow, and one name that kept cropping up over and over again: _Steve._

“Steve!” yelled James—the Asset?— _Bucky?_ —clutching his head with both hands. “Get out of my head!!”

Adam was far too intrigued to stop. The deeper he delved, the more delicious the memories were. So much blood. So much loss and pain. But even under that… so much love. Adam had never felt a love like that. The way his eyes sparkled when he looked at his childhood friend, the fear in his gut whenever Steve was in danger, the joy and peace layered with anxiety when they slept side-by-side. The overwhelming urge to kiss him, the fear of what would happen if he did. As it turned out, Bucky thought about kissing Steve _a lot._

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!” Bucky/TheAsset screamed.

Doctors and nurses rushed down the hall, concerned. Adam quickly withdrew from Bucky’s head to soothe the rushing crew and direct their attention elsewhere. The group slowed down, expressions easing, and asked if The Captain had awoken yet.

“Not yet,” Adam informed them.

“Oh,” said the head doctor. The group hovered for a moment before walking away, uncertain.

His three companions were staring at him strangely.

He reached into their heads all at once to smooth things over.

* * *

Jumbled memories threatened to split open his skull. No matter how hard he pressed his hands to his temples, he still felt as though his bones were going to explode, and chunks of his brain were going to paint the walls of the hospital room.

None of it felt real, none of it felt familiar, he wasn’t sure whose memories they were or where they’d come from, all he wanted was for it to _STOP._

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. Immediately, his brows creased into a frown. He sat up, despite the pounding in his own head. “Bucky?”

_“THAT’S NOT MY NAME!”_ screamed TheAsset/James/Bucky/TheSoldier…The Winter Soldier… _Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky_ “STOP!!!!!”

Steve reached out a steadying hand and planted it on Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky! Bucky, it’s okay!” Steve swept his feet over the side of the bed and cradled Bucky’s head between his strong, capable hands. “Bucky…”

The man with too many names started sobbing. None of them were his. All of them were his. Who was he? _Steve!_

Steve gently pulled Bucky’s face to his chest and held him. He didn’t say anything, just rested his cheek on the top of his head and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

The Soldier was not used to being held. The Asset had never known a loving human touch. James didn’t know what to do. But Bucky… _who the hell is Bucky? You’re my friend._ He gulped and cowered against the large, solid man. The man who smelled like sunshine. _Your name,_ the voice in his head which sounded like Steve’s,

“is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve mumbled into Bucky’s hair. “You’re my friend. Shhh. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

_I’m not gonna fight you._

“It’s okay, Buck… It’s okay.”

_You’ve known me your whole life._

“Bucky…” Steve held him tighter. “Oh, Bucky, I’ve missed you…”

_You’re my friend._

_You’re my MISSION._

_Then finish it… ‘cause I’m with you_ “till the end of the line,” he croaked.

Steve froze. He couldn’t have heard that right. It sounded like—“What was that?” he asked, pulling back to look at Bucky’s face.

His eyes were wide and scared, haunted, pained. “I’m with you till the end of the line.” _Mission: protect Steve. Steve…_

Steve cupped Bucky’s face with both hands. “Same, pal.”

He saw—what is that emotion, he hasn’t seen it in so long— _love_ —in Steve’s eyes.

“Same,” Steve repeated, kissing Bucky’s forehead and pulling him close.

He closed his eyes and let Steve calm his mind.

 


	11. Hope

“So… you really are our son?” Steve Rogers asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Bucky was sitting next to him on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

“Genetically, yes,” Adam confirmed.

“So how does that… work?” Steve blushed and glanced quickly at Bucky.

Adam calmly explained the basic process of genetically engineering a child from two donors of the same sex, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

Steve frowned and shook his head. “That’s so strange…”

Adam shrugged, unaffected.

“Why were you searching for us?” Steve wondered.

Adam cast a glance at Steve, then at Bucky, then at the floor. “I was lonely.”

After a pause, Steve admitted, “Well… I know what that’s like.” He cast a subtle glance at Bucky, who was still staring ahead.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you,” Adam apologized.

“It’s all right.” Steve couldn’t fault someone for being lonely. “Just be careful who you trust.”

Adam’s mouth tilted into a lopsided smile, reminiscent of his fathers’. “I think I’m in good hands.” He had informally joined forces with Ben Grimm, Johnny Storm, and Remy Lebeau. The four had formed an impromptu team, which was as-yet nameless.

“You’re not gonna try to live with us, are you?” Steve asked with obvious discomfort.

“No,” Adam answered quickly. “I just wanted to… apologize.”

Steve smiled politely. “You’re forgiven.”

Adam nodded, satisfied. “Then… I shall leave you to it.” He turned to leave the room.

“Wait,” Steve said.

Adam halted.

“…Thank you. For helping me find Bucky.”

Adam glanced between the two of them. “I only hope he finds you,” he replied cryptically before exiting the room.

Steve examined Bucky, who was still staring blankly ahead, as though completely oblivious to the conversation that had just happened. He did this a lot, stare blankly off into space—he could go hours without saying anything. He wasn’t like the Bucky Steve knew at all.

And yet—Steve knew, somehow, buried deep inside of him, the Bucky he knew was still alive.

He just needed time.


End file.
